Case Number 03492: Small Claims Court

THE CARS THAT ATE PARIS

The Charge

Roads girdle the globe

The Case

George and Arthur Waldo are driving across Australia, caravan in tow, to try
to find work. While traveling a back road late one night, George loses control
of the car and drives off the side of a steep hill. The accident claims his life
and leaves his brother, Arthur, hospitalized. When Arthur recovers, he learns he
is in the tiny town of Paris, under the care of a research doctor who swears he
can "cure" him. Arthur is disoriented and upset over the death of his
brother, but soon depression becomes concern as the town turns against him.
Seems everyone, from the Mayor to the local lads, just won't let him leave.
Attempts to depart are met with roadblocks and gangs of confrontational junk
cars. He hears strange noises at night and sees groups of the town's people
meeting in an old garage at all hours. It turns out that Paris is in the
business of causing car accidents. They then make false insurance claims and
salvage auto parts, all in an attempt to keep their impoverished province from
going under. Any loose ends, like surviving victims, are either involuntarily
"incorporated" into the village or experimented on by the deranged
Doc. Arthur finally agrees to stay in Paris and is made "parking
officer." But all this does is lead him to a face-to-face confrontation
with the sonic youth of the town. They are a wild, unruly rebel bunch that drive
their demolition derby style vehicles around recklessly to terrorize the
citizenry. The Mayor and law enforcement want this insurgency put down, lest it
threaten the town's viability. It all boils over into a gearbox generation gap
standoff as the town officials prepare to face The Cars that Ate
Paris.

When you hear of a movie entitled The Cars that Ate Paris, a lot of
surreal, sleazy B-movie horror clichés come to mind. You envision maniacal
Mustangs, killer Chryslers, and maybe even a vile Volvo or sinister Saab, all
roaming the countryside with chrome grills snapping like murderous turtles as
surprisingly cowardly French people flee in unhygienic panic. Blood is splashed
across the fenders in impressionistic sprays and pale Parisian body parts dangle
from horrifying hood ornaments. Eventually some screwball mad scientist or
underworld escargot kingpin is discovered as the "breeder" of these
anarchic automobiles and a suave, saintly hero saves the day (and both the Arc
de Triumph and the Eiffel Tower) with a "new car smell" bomb that
renders the vicious vehicles showroom new and hopelessly inert.

But then, when you actually sit and watchThe Car that Ate
Paris, you realize your not in for any of that: no brazen Buicks or ornery
Oldsmobiles. Indeed, you see that this is not a fright flick in the traditional
sense. This is really a dark comedy about customs (the town of Paris) versus
encroaching commercialism (the opening sequences take-off on advertising is
priceless). You understand it has nothing to do with psychotic Porches and
everything to do with a mysterious outback village staging vehicular
altercations for fun and profit. Exploiting their hillside location and
dangerous dirt roads, this secret society based in the dented fender and twisted
hubcap is on the verge of discovery and destruction. Their desire for privacy
and maintenance of their way of life has lead to too many outsiders turning up
as "rejects" in a local mad doctor's nuthouse. And now the youth of
the town are rebelling via aggressive acts of sadistic sedan vandalism. In
essence, The Cars that Ate Paris is not intended as a standard thriller.
It's more like a political cartoon uprising, a coup de tat via coupe
Deville.

There is very little conventionality in this first feature from respected
Australian auteur Peter Weir (The Truman Show, Witness). More or
less an experiment in impression and suggestion, The Cars that Ate Paris
does a magnificent job of setting up a surreal, sinister tone for the people and
location of Paris. Like a wily magician, Weir hints at hidden horrors (the late
night car raids, the infirmary full of "veggies") and never lets his
story get overly expositional. Many things are implied here and it takes an
alert viewer to catch them all. Sometimes, things are too passive (the lead
character of Arthur is so meek that he makes spineless jellyfish seem macho) and
many scenes fail to connect. This leaves the narrative scattered and sparse and
as a result, the audience often feels completely in the dark, unable to grasp
fully what is going on. Still, this is an intriguing, if ultimately
unsuccessful, attempt at making menace metaphysical through the symbolism of the
worldwide fascination with the automobile. Like a death dealing Detroit, Paris
has now become completely dependent on the four-wheeled wonder and few films
have captured the love and lure of the vehicle as well. There is also some
interesting Australian cinema history here. Careful eyes will catch a pre-Mad
Max Bruce Spence (as the weird, loopy Charlie) and, indeed, many of the
themes Weir works through -- cars as freedom, the seductive power of the
combustion engine -- appear as precursors to George Miller's post-apocalyptic
Road Warrior action epics. Weir has gone on to make a name as an
artistic, subtle mainstream director. That meshing of the melancholy with the
mysterious and murderous best describes The Cars that Ate Paris.

Also included here is Weir's 1979 TV film The Plumber. So ambiguous
in its focus that it gets lost and relying on a formula so old (the mysterious
worker invading the home of a prim housewife) that Methuselah rejected it as
cliché, this is indeed an uninvolving retread, an unusual misstep for an
otherwise adventurous director. Part of the problem lies in the setup. We know
that this new, cracked pipe jockey is a little off his rocker when he jokes
about rape, takes a shower while on the job, and offers the female lead herbal
tea and "hash" cakes. But when his decidedly confrontational demeanor
turns cruel and calculated, you sense this story only has one place to go. The
fact that Weir subverts that stalker/victim conclusion to find another, if
equally archetypical ending means that, as the foundation for a plot, the story
of The Plumber really had no choice but to be routine. If he was really
experimenting, letting the weird workman be a hallucinatory vision of a lonely
academic woman or actually turned the violence and suspense up to eleven
(instead of the .5 he achieves here) this could have worked. But while it's nice
to have another entire film as a bonus presentation on this DVD, one view of
The Plumber will convince you that the provider wasn't doing you any
favors.

However, HVE does treat both The Cars that Ate Paris and The
Plumber with exceptional care. Both movies look very good, with Cars
being the visual stunner. You would never know this was a low budget, highly
independent film from early '70s Australia. The colors are vibrant, the
contrasts sharp without being over-enhanced, and images crackle and pulsate in
this pristine 2.35:1 anamorphic widescreen transfer. The Plumber, on the
other hand, suffers from its made-for-TV roots, being a little too soft and
faded at times. Still, in 1.66:1 it looks well preserved for something created
25 years ago.

Sonically, both films succeed as well. The Dolby Digital Mono is crystalline
and there is no distortion to be found (there is real raw power in the roar of
the engines in Cars). HVE even enhances the DVD experience by offering a
couple of cool extras as part of the package. Unfortunately, one is The
Plumber (and the only way it is cool is that it leaves you cold). The other
is a sit down interview session with director Weir. By now a major player in
world cinema, the gracious Aussie seems genuinely pleased to be discussing these
early films. His comments on Cars really help to cement the odd ambiance
he was trying to create (and he interprets his own plot very well). The
Plumber comments are a little more cursory and cover some basics (story,
casting) without going into much thematic detail. Even though they both only
total about 20 minutes, these interviews show that Weir was very much in touch
with his cinematic muse when he created these initial forays into film. Too bad
they are such a mixed bag.

While The Cars that Ate Paris is an awkward and absorbing attempt at
unhinging the horror film, The Plumber needs a fellow pipe fitter to help
it down the sewage system where it belongs.